


A Brush with Density

by chellefic



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-15
Updated: 2006-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellefic/pseuds/chellefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duncan makes a bet with Methos. There's no way that could get out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brush with Density

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Taselby for the title, and to Kamil and Danvers for the betas and encouragement. Thank you to Emu for pointing out which kiss was the kiss.

The sense of presence made Duncan pause, but only for a moment. Pushing open the door to Le Blues Bar, he was unsurprised to find Methos at the bar, with a pen in hand, while Joe stood across from him, a dishtowel on his shoulder.

"What’s up?" Duncan asked, stopping at the chair next to Methos' and leaning on the bar.

"Not much." Joe looked at Methos. "You gonna hit up Mac, too?"

"Hit me up for what?" Duncan looked between them.

"Money," Joe answered.

Duncan shifted, resting one elbow on the bar and turning to face Methos. "You’re asking Joe for money?"

"It’s for charity, MacLeod."

"You’re raising money for charity?" Duncan frowned, considering that possibility.

"Is that so impossible to believe?" Methos answered his voice a hair too sharp.

Duncan shook his head. "No, it isn’t."

The soft tone of Duncan’s voice apparently mollified him because Methos smiled. "Have you talked to Amanda recently?"

"She got you to collect sponsors for her, didn’t she? Only Amanda would expect people to give her money for masturbating."

"Actually, I’m not getting sponsors for her. I’m getting sponsors for me."

"You’re going to masturbate for charity?" Duncan shook his head. "I need older friends."

"So, Mac, how much are you willing to pay me per minute?" Methos asked. His teasing tone was irresistible.

"Five dollars."

"Five dollars," Methos repeated. "That’s not bad. If I jerk off for two hundred minutes, that’d be a thousand dollars."

"Two hundred minutes?" Duncan repeated. "At your age?"

Joe chuckled.

Methos' gaze narrowed, but only for a moment. "Look at it this way, I’ve had lots and lots of practice. Besides, I have the entire day. It doesn’t have to be all in one shot, so to speak."

"That’s more than three hours," Duncan said.

"I have Immortal powers of recovery."

Duncan snorted. "How about this? I’ll pay you fifty dollars a minute, but you only get the money if you actually do two hundred minutes. Otherwise, you pay fifty dollars times however many minutes you actually masturbate for." He held back his grin, although it wasn't easy.

"Deal."

"Wait a minute. How will I know you’ve actually done it?"

"You wouldn’t accept my word as a gentleman?"

Duncan laughed. "Amanda robbed me of my gullibility a long time ago. No, Methos, if you want my money, you’ll have to let me time you."

"You want to watch me masturbate, MacLeod? I don’t know, sounds a little kinky for you."

Duncan shrugged. "That’s the deal."

"If that’s how you want it." Methos wrote Duncan’s sponsorship information on the form, and dropped his pen into his inside coat pocket. "I’ll see you at my place on Friday night, around 11:30."

"Friday? I thought this thing was on Saturday."

"Saturday starts at midnight, MacLeod, and I sleep better if I relax first." Methos folded the form and tucked it into his pocket. "Thanks again, Joe."

Joe nodded, unable to form words through the laughter that followed Methos to the door.

***

Duncan glanced at the clock. 11:15, time to go to Methos'. He smiled as he picked up his backpack. This was going to be fun. Twenty-four hours of making fun of Methos. Yup, it was definitely going to be fun.

"You're late," Methos said as he opened the door. He was still dressed. Duncan was vaguely disappointed about that.

Duncan smiled. "Only five minutes."

"Late is late, MacLeod." He turned away. "I'm going to get ready for bed. Make yourself at home."

"Your house is my house."

Methos didn't answer.

Duncan looked around, intent on making himself perfectly comfortable. He tossed his coat over the back of a chair and went to the kitchen for a beer. Settling onto the couch he tried to decide whether or not he should take off his shoes before putting his feet on Methos' coffee table.

He didn't think about it for long before resting his still-clad feet on the coffee table.

Unfortunately, Methos barely glanced at him when he returned, wearing nothing but a pair of blue boxers. Duncan had sparred with him enough to not find the muscles surprising, but he hadn't been quite prepared for the impact of the entire package.

Long legs, broad muscled shoulders, curving biceps… He eyed the long stretch of Methos' back as he opened a door on the far side of the room and the easy motion of Methos' hips as he walked back toward Duncan.

"Here you go."

Duncan raised his eyes from Methos' abdomen to his face. He was holding out a stack of sheets and blankets with a pillow on top. Reaching up, Duncan took them.

"You'll be sleeping on the couch," Methos said. Either Methos enjoyed stating the obvious or it was revenge for all of those times he'd made Methos sleep on the couch.

"I think I can handle it," Duncan answered, meeting Methos' gaze.

"Good. I'd like to get some sleep, and it's midnight."

Duncan held up his stopwatch. "I'm ready."

Neither of them spoke as they made their way to Methos' bedroom. The room was dominated by a platform bed with a light grey comforter. There was a dresser against one wall while the one farthest from the door was lined with bookshelves. A small desk was tucked into the corner, its surface empty except for a lamp.

Duncan immediately began browsing the bookshelves while Methos stripped off his boxers and climbed into the bed.

"Start your watch."

Glancing over at him, Duncan thought about complaining that Methos was under the covers, but decided against it. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be able to tell what was happening. He pressed the button on the stopwatch. "Go."

Methos shifted under the covers, and Duncan could see the outline of his legs get farther apart, then the area of the comforter over his groin began rising, the rise shifting up and down with what Duncan assumed were the strokes of Methos' hand. He was a little surprised Methos was ready to get right to the stroking so soon.

Duncan shifted his attention back to the books, reading through the titles. They were a mishmash of languages and subjects all pushed together on the shelves. Duncan didn't doubt that there was an order to the arrangement. Methos believed strongly in the importance of information.

When he looked back over at Methos, his eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open. Duncan couldn't help but look. That was how Methos looked when he was aroused. It was just like everyone else, which was no doubt something Methos would approve of. Maybe Duncan should tell him that.

The rise under the sheet was moving faster and Methos' was breathing harder. Duncan had been semi-hard since he'd walked into the room, but now his cock filled completely.

There was a barely visible flex in the muscles of Methos' shoulder, the muscles shifting as Methos stroked. Duncan watched it, part of his mind imagining a hand on his cock, moving with that same rhythm, part of his mind thinking about Methos' cock and the hand stroking it.

Methos threw his head back, his whole body arching. He didn't make a sound as he came, his face contorted in pleasure.

The contortions faded into Methos' usual expression of patience mixed with assurance. "Time?" he asked, once again laying flat against the bed.

Duncan pressed the button on the stop watch and looked at the watch face. "Thirty minutes."

"It's a start." Methos pulled the covers up around his shoulders. "Good-night, MacLeod."

Taking the hint, Duncan wished him a good-night and left.

Back in the living room, he spread the sheet over the couch and then covered it with the blanket. Then he stripped to his boxers, climbed into his makeshift bed and stared at the ceiling. After a moment he rolled onto his side, trying to ignore his erection. Maybe he should have borrowed one of Methos' books.

Methos was no doubt resting comfortably, contentedly sated, while Duncan rolled about on his couch, tucked beneath a blanket that smelled vaguely of Methos.

To top it off, Methos hadn't seemed the slightest bit bothered by having Duncan there.

Duncan gave his cock a comforting pat. Tomorrow, he'd annoy Methos.

***

"Rise and shine."

Duncan opened one eye and looked up at Methos who was standing over him, naked, with his penis sticking straight out. Duncan closed his eye again. "Your couch is really uncomfortable."

"I know." Methos nudged Duncan's leg. "Get your stopwatch out."

Duncan ignored him.

Methos nudged him again, closer to his hip this time. "You're the one who wanted to time me."

Rolling onto his back, Duncan opened his eyes.

Methos smirked down at him. "Morning erection here, mustn't let it go to waste." Duncan sat up and Methos dropped onto the couch next to him. "Stopwatch."

Leaning forward and ignoring the way his back muscles had tightened up during the night, Duncan picked the stopwatch up off of Methos' coffee table. "All set."

"Ah, morning." Methos leaned back against the couch, his head tilted up toward the ceiling, and started to stroke.

Long, slow strokes that covered the entire length of his cock. Duncan shifted his eyes away, but nothing in the room was as interesting as Methos' hand and cock. Methos' cock was, well, a cock. They hadn't changed much in five thousand years. He had a foreskin, but it had retracted, exposing a rounded head, red with arousal.

It was comfortably sized; Duncan could probably wrap both his hands around it and have just the head showing. A good size for fucking, Duncan thought, big enough to be felt, but not so big it would make the other person uncomfortable.

Methos began to stroke a little faster, and when Duncan lifted his eyes he found Methos watching him. Methos was watching him watch Methos' cock. Duncan smiled, trying to pretend that wasn't weird. He was pretty sure it wouldn't seem weird to Mr. Been There, Done That, Got the Toga. "Almost done? I don’t know about you, but I could use some breakfast."

"Feel free to help yourself."

"And let you cheat? I don’t think so."

"Cheat? I think you have me confused with Amanda."

"Uh-huh." Duncan patted Methos' bare knee, startled when Methos pulled in a breath. "Let's just say that if I'm spending ten thousand dollars, I want to make sure it's earned."

"I'm earning it," Methos panted, looking directly at Duncan. "Believe me, I'm earning it."

There was something in his gaze, but before Duncan could sort it out, Methos leaned his head back and closed his eyes. A few strokes later he came, his hips lifting into the air, pushing his cock through his fist. Duncan watched because he couldn't look away. Methos' fluid landed on his thighs and stomach, and his hips jerked, not touching the couch, but he remained utterly silent.

Duncan barely managed to keep from moaning for him, because it was a turn on, seeing Methos like this, naked and coming.

"Mind if I take a shower?" Duncan asked when Methos finally opened his eyes.

"The cold water is on the right."

***

Methos was in the kitchen when Duncan emerged from the shower. He turned and grinned at Duncan, "Good shower?"

"It was all right," Duncan answered noncommittally, ignoring the grin. He'd have jerked off in the shower even if he hadn't watched Methos. It was morning, after all. "Coffee ready?"

Methos handed him a full cup. "Milk's in the fridge." He had put on a dark blue robe which was tied around his waist, leaving a long V of chest exposed.

Taking a sip of the coffee, Duncan said, "I can handle it black."

"I'm sure you can."

Duncan went to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk.

They spent the morning making breakfast, and sharing the paper. His ability to be quiet in the mornings was one of the things Duncan had always appreciated about Methos. If this morning he found himself glancing at the exposed bits of Methos' chest, well, that was understandable.

Around noon, Methos disappeared into his room and returned with a small stack of books. Placing them on the coffee table, he looked over at Mac, who was placing the last of the breakfast dishes in the sink. "Where's your stopwatch?"

"Right in front of you."

Methos picked up a book and lifted his feet onto the coffee table. "You should get over here and start it."

"You're reading."

"Erotica."

"That's not masturbation. It's reading."

"It's reading for the purpose of being titillated which makes it masturbation."

Scooping the stopwatch from the table, Duncan dropped onto the couch. "I'll start timing when you start jerking off." Methos opened his mouth to argue and Duncan gave him a slow, sweet smile. "Reading is foreplay. Nowhere in the rules does it say you can count foreplay."

Lips pressed together, Methos gazed at him for a long moment. Duncan kept his smile firmly in place. "I expect you to watch and press that button as soon as my hand touches my cock."

Duncan nodded, barely managing to keep his smile from faltering when Methos said the word "cock." He held up the stopwatch.

Methos lifted his eyes, not quite rolling them, and opened his book.

After a few minutes of silence, Duncan leaned his shoulder against Methos' and read a paragraph. "You're reading lesbian porn?"

"Is that a problem?" Methos said without shifting his eyes from the page.

"Kind of predictable, imagining two women together."

"So's sheep."

"I don't read about sheep."

"Of course you don't, Highlander." Methos carefully emphasized the last word.

With a dismissive grunt, Duncan sat up and reached for the book on top of the pile, Straight? Tales of Unlikely Sexual Encounters Between Men. Duncan turned the book over, scanning the back. Methos had a book about straight men being seduced by other men. Duncan wasn't surprised, although he was starting to wonder if Methos ever read heterosexual porn.

Flipping to the first story, Duncan began to read.

He'd never had much patience for the idea that people were either one thing or another. It wasn't how the world worked in Duncan's experience, and he had a lot of experience. The first story confirmed that, with a supposedly straight man eagerly having sex with another man.

Turning to the second story, he wondered if Methos liked reading about first times because his own was so long ago.

"Mac," Methos said, and Duncan looked up. Methos had opened his robe, and he had a hand curled around his erection.

Duncan started the stopwatch, and Methos began to stroke, the book still held in his other hand. Methos resumed reading. Duncan tried to, but every time he read the word cock, he'd find his gaze shifting to Methos'. Methos' stroke was lazy, almost negligent. Duncan found it frustratingly easy to imagine that hand on him.

Methos would touch him with that same negligent stroke, as if pretending that Duncan's pleasure didn't matter to him, but his eyes would give him away. They always did. Methos would watch him, his gaze intent and focused. For a long time Duncan had thought that Methos' gaze was more focused when he looked at Duncan, but eventually he'd convinced himself that was just his ego talking.

He'd stroke Methos like he meant it.

Methos lifted his hand from his cock to turn the page.

Duncan forced his attention back to the book in his hand. The room was quiet except for the distinct shush of skin rubbing skin. Methos' head was tilted slightly forward as he read, lips just barely parted, sharp eyes focused on his reading.

Maybe he should find an excuse to stand. Then he could look down at Methos, see all of him, except the parts still covered by his robe.

Except he was supposed to be pestering Methos, not finding excuses to watch him from a better angle.

"Do you always read about lesbians when you jerk off?" Duncan asked, keeping his tone conversational.

"Only when I have guests."

Duncan wanted to have an answer for that. He should have had an answer for that. But he didn't. He tried, again, to read. "I could read to you."

Methos glanced at him. Duncan could have sworn there was something in his gaze, but he looked away too quickly for Duncan to figure out what it was. "No, thanks."

"I could read from this." He held up his book. "All those cocks and fingers and mouths. Men doing things to each other. It's pretty erotic."

"I know. It's my book."

"Yes, it is." Duncan grinned at the look on Methos' face. "You shouldn't scowl while masturbating. Spoils the mood."

Methos' expression shifted slowly into a grin, and he turned on the couch; his back against the arm rest, he lifted one leg onto the couch, leaving the other on the floor.

Duncan swallowed. He hadn't been prepared for that, for parted thighs, and balls, and the crack of Methos' ass. Forcing his eyes upward, he took in the muscles of Methos' abdomen, contracted slightly by Methos' position. By the time he reached Methos' face, Methos had resumed reading. For a wild moment Duncan wondered if he was reading so he wouldn’t have to look at Duncan. But if that was true, why change positions? Easier not to look when they were sitting side by side.

Dropping his gaze, Duncan watched Methos stroke, less negligent now, more intent, watched his balls shift with the movements of Methos' hand. It would be so easy to reach out, to cup them in his hand. He looked back at his book. He wasn't up for reading about fucking, or maybe he was too up for it. His pants were getting uncomfortable, and Duncan wanted Methos to come, wanted to come himself.

Maybe he should just touch himself. There wasn't anything that said he couldn’t jerk off.

Methos' gaze shifted to Duncan and then back to his book.

No, Duncan wouldn't jerk off, not yet.

***

As instructed Duncan waited ten minutes before opening the door to the bathroom. It was a long ten minutes. A couple of hours had gone by since the last time Methos had jerked off. They'd watched The Searchers on one of the movie channels, with Methos making wise cracks the entire time, mostly about John Wayne being dubbed into French. Duncan hadn't answered. He was a little off his game. Funny, how an aching hard-on could do that to you. It had finally subsided, much to Duncan's relief.

Then Methos had announced he was taking a bath and instructed Duncan to give him ten minutes then enter the bathroom. Duncan had barely noticed the tub when he'd taken his shower, but for ten minutes it had been all he could think about.

Methos naked, in water.

Duncan entered. The tub was white, claw-footed, and almost as long as Methos. Methos was relaxing against the back of it, one knee raised above the water and his arms resting along the sides. There were no bubbles to obstruct Duncan's view.

And what a view it was. Despite having spent the entire day with a naked or nearly naked Methos, Duncan couldn't help but stare. Maybe it was the blatant sensuality of Methos' position; maybe it was the way the water made his chest glisten, accentuating his muscularity. Maybe it was the way the narrow tub made his shoulders look broader by contrast. Maybe it was simply the fact that Methos was the sexiest thing Duncan had seen in a long time.

"Ready?" Methos asked.

Ready? Oh, yes, Duncan was ready. Long past ready. Primed, in fact. Holding back a frustrated groan, he took the stopwatch from his pocket. "Yeah."

"Good." Methos closed his eyes and Duncan pushed the start button on the watch.

Methos began tracing patterns with his fingertips. Duncan watched as he trailed one hand along the outer edge of a pectoral while the other made lazy patterns on his abdomen. Duncan glanced lower. Methos' cock was semi-hard, resting against his thigh.

Methos' hands continued their careful movements, edging close to both nipples and cock, but not quite connecting.

Duncan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He looked around the room; maybe he should sit down. He turned back to Methos just as his fingers brushed across a nipple. Duncan completely forgot about sitting when Methos' fingers returned to the nipple, circling it before moving back and forth across the peak.

Duncan could almost feel his mouth closing over that bit of flesh, the hardness of it beneath his tongue, the way it would tighten still more as he sucked.

Methos moved his fingers to the other side, and Duncan wanted to swat them away, wanted to be the one rubbing and teasing. Methos arched slightly into his own touch, and his head went back, offering his neck. Duncan wanted to map the exposed skin with his mouth, to learn Methos' taste, to find his most sensitive places and nip and suck and lick until Methos groaned and moved against him, as turned on as Duncan was.

To Duncan's disappointment, Methos abandoned his nipples and rested his hand on his knee. The other hand he pressed fully against his abdomen, moving it slowly back and forth.

Abruptly, he moved his hand to his inner thigh, caressing all the way to his knee, and then back up. He stopped just shy of his balls, moving the hand downward again.

Duncan was finding it hard to breathe. Methos' cock was fully erect, jutting upward. Duncan wanted to take Methos' hand and wrap it around that cock. He wanted to take it in his own hand, stroking while he lowered his mouth and sucked in the tip.

Methos brushed his fingers against the bottom of his balls. A soft sound escaped his lips. Duncan wanted to hear that sound again, wanted to be the cause of it.

Methos ran his fingers through the wet hair at the base of his cock. Then he moved both hands to the shaft. Instead of wrapping them around it, he stroked the sides with his palms. Duncan watched. Finally, Methos closed one hand around his cock and teased the head with his fingers.

Duncan looked up to find that Methos had opened his eyes and was looking at him, not at his face, but at the tell-tale bulge in his pants. Duncan wondered if Methos was imagining that the cock in his hands belonged to someone else. He resisted the urge to touch himself, not entirely sure why. Instead, he held still as Methos' eyes moved slowly upward, finally meeting his.

Methos slid lower in the tub and raised his legs so they rested on the sides of it. Methos was exposed to him as never before. His cock, his balls, his ass were all there for Duncan to see. And want.

Capturing Duncan's gaze once again, Methos trailed his fingers down over his testicles, and lower to his perineum, and still lower. Duncan's breath caught as Methos traced the space between his buttocks with a single finger.

It was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen.

Methos continued his slow movements. Finally, finally, circling his entrance.

Push it in. Please, push it in, Duncan urged silently, unable to speak, unable to move.

Methos pushed, his eyes drifting slowly shut.

Duncan groaned.

Methos' finger was in up to the first knuckle, and Duncan glanced at his face. It was a study in concentration.

The finger slid deeper.

Duncan could almost feel that finger inside him, easing gradually deeper.

He knew the moment it brushed Methos' prostate. Methos gasped and his mouth fell open. His free hand clasped the side of the tub as he tilted his hips, moving into his own touch.

The finger slowly reappeared as Methos withdrew it, bringing it almost all of the way out before easing it back in.

Duncan stared, his heart pounding. He wanted to pull Methos' hand out and replace it with his own. He wanted to jam his fingers into Methos. He wanted to feel Methos inside. Unable to hold back any longer, he grabbed his cock through his pants and squeezed it in time with Methos' strokes.

Methos dropped his hand from the side of the tub to his cock, stroking it quickly. With a groan he opened his eyes and removed his hand, returning it to the side of the tub.

Methos was looking at him, and some small part of Duncan's mind suggested that he should be embarrassed by the way he was desperately clutching his own cock, but he was too far gone to care.

The expression on Methos' face was almost pleading. Duncan wanted to pull him from the tub and bury his cock deep and pound and pound and pound until the pleading look was gone, until Methos was crying out Duncan's name and covering them both with his come.

A second finger joined the first. Duncan could tell that Methos was trying to retain control, trying to keep his movements slow, but his wrist flexed with increasing speed, forcing his fingers in and out.

Duncan stopped squeezing, unable to keep up with Methos' rhythm.

Methos was almost there. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, and he was moving his ass in time with his fingers, creating small waves. It was all Duncan could do not to reach into the tub and take Methos' cock in hand. A couple of quick, hard strokes and Methos would be coming and in that moment Duncan wanted him to come as much as he'd ever wanted anything.

But Methos took care of it himself, and it took more strokes than Duncan thought it would. Five. Five strokes along the full length of his cock and Methos was coming, his ass lifting off of the bottom of the tub, and both hands halting their movements as he let out a partially stifled cry.

Methos collapsed back into the tub, his eyes closing, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his fingers still inside.

Duncan stared at him for a moment and then looked away. It was too much. He wasn't prepared to see this much.

Or to be this seen.

He looked back at the sound of Methos rising from the tub like some sharp-edged male Aphrodite. It was very nearly Duncan's undoing. He clenched his hands to keep from reaching out and pulling Methos to him.

"Would you hand me a towel?" Methos asked. "On the rack behind you."

Duncan nodded, grateful to have an excuse to look away. He handed the towel to Methos who began drying his arm and shoulder. "How long?"

Duncan had forgotten entirely about the stopwatch. It was still clasped in his hand. "Forty-five minutes."

"That's all?"

"Yes." It had felt longer, much longer. He turned away as Methos leaned down to dry his legs, unable to watch and unable to leave.

Methos grabbed his robe from a hook on the back of the door and left without saying a word, giving Duncan a soft, almost not there smile as he closed the door.

Duncan sank down onto the toilet lid. He'd watched lovers masturbate before. Hell, he'd watched Methos masturbate several times already, but it hadn't been like that.

He stretched his legs out in front of him. He was so hard it hurt, but he didn't want to take himself in hand. He wanted Methos, wanted him back here, in the bathroom, with a desperation that shocked him. He wanted Methos kneeling between his thighs, sucking his cock. He wanted to rest his hands in Methos' hair, guiding the pace as his shaft slid in and out of Methos' mouth.

Biting his lower lip to contain the groan, he opened his pants.

The image of Methos vanished as soon as he touched his cock, and as hard as he tried he couldn't get it back.

He tried to pretend that it was Methos' hand touching him, but that didn't work either.

In the end he simply pictured Methos as he'd looked in the tub, moving his hand to Methos' rhythm. He came into a wad of toilet paper. There was no relief with the orgasm, no relaxing of tension. Instead he felt restless, erotic energy still churning away beneath his skin. Standing, he lifted the lid and tossed the wet paper away.

Methos wasn't in the living room when Duncan emerged from the bathroom. Without stopping to think about what he was doing, Duncan went to Methos' bedroom and opened the door.

Methos was lying in the center of the bed, on top of the pale gray comforter. He was still naked. "I couldn't seem to get dressed," Methos explained with another of those almost smiles.

"Tired?" Duncan asked, stopping just inside the door. He wanted to sit beside Methos on the bed, but it was too close.

"Not really, just not in the mood for clothes."

Duncan nodded. He wasn't in the mood for clothes either. He wondered what Methos would say if he took his off.

"Better?" Methos asked.

Duncan was startled. He hadn't expected such a direct acknowledgment of what had happened in the bathroom. Forcing a grin, he replied, "Not really."

"Forty-five minutes, huh?"

"Yup."

"I suppose you better start the stopwatch again."

"So soon?"

"I'm naked and in bed, might as well." He paused. "And it should take a while this time. You might want to get comfortable."

Duncan sat in Methos' desk chair, firmly denying his desire to sit on the bed.

Methos began to gently fondle his flaccid cock. Duncan didn't even try to look elsewhere.

"Duncan?"

"Yeah?"

"Time."

"Oh, sorry." Duncan fumbled in his pocket for the stopwatch. "Started."

"Thanks."

"Can I get you something? A book or a drink or...?"

"No, but thanks for asking."

"Sure."

And so it went. Methos fondled and Duncan watched. The quiet gave him time to ponder the strangeness of the situation. He was watching his friend masturbate for the fifth time, and it had been his idea. He'd told himself it would be fun, a chance to tease Methos as he so enjoyed teasing others. Except it wasn’t fun. It was intense, erotic, and weird, but it wasn't fun.

Methos sighed again, and there was a bit more pleasure in the sound this time.

Methos' cock was hard, again. Duncan wondered vaguely if this was a side-effect of having a 5,000 year old quickening-- constant readiness. And wouldn't that be a nice thing to have in a lover?

Duncan shook his head. Did he want Methos as a lover?

Of course you do, you bloody, daft Scot.

Duncan sighed. For some reason his cock always sounded like Fitz.

"Something wrong?" Methos asked.

"No, just thinking."

"About what?"

"Baseball."

Methos chuckled.

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. What are you thinking about?"

"Not baseball."

Duncan smiled.

"This isn't working."

Perhaps I can help. Duncan thought the words, but he didn't say them.

With a sound that was part groan and part sigh, Methos grabbed a pillow and placed it level with his groin. Then he rolled over on top of it.

Methos' ass was raised off of the bed, his buttocks slightly parted. Duncan stared. Methos' ass was beautiful. There wasn't another word for it. Sweet, perfect curves created by firm muscle, skin he knew would be smooth and inviting to the touch. Duncan could feel the blood rushing to his cock as he looked.

Methos began to move, shoving his hips forward and down, and pushing his cock into the pillow. Duncan bit his lip to keep from groaning. Methos moved slowly, his buttocks parting as he lifted his hips, giving Duncan a tantalizing glimpse of what lay between them. Then he pushed forward and the muscles in his ass tightened. Duncan wanted to reach out and rest his hand on Methos' ass, wanted to feel those muscles working.

Duncan forced his eyes away, looking up at the rest of Methos. One of Methos' arms was folded in front of him and Methos was resting his head against his forearm. The other hand was under the pillow.

He'd assumed that looking at Methos' back would help to contain his lust. He'd been wrong. Methos' back was broad and strong, and Duncan couldn't look at it without thinking about how it would feel to have that strong body on top of his, forcing its way into him. And the way Methos was moving, with slow, even thrusts. Duncan could imagine being the recipient of those thrusts. He could imagine Methos' cock stroking slowly into him, brushing over the nerves at the edge of his entrance. He was so sensitive there, and to feel Methos caress him with his cock and his long slow strokes would... Just the thought of it had him nearly out of his mind.

Duncan took several slow, deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Think about something else. He could do that. Except he couldn't remember a damn thing about baseball.

Methos' hips were in the air again, parting his cheeks. Duncan wanted to grab him and hold him still. Still and open. He wanted to shove his tongue inside, wanted to hear Methos cry out in pleasure and surprise. He'd taste Methos thoroughly and completely. He'd make Methos squirm and whimper and cry out, desperate for more. And just when Methos couldn't take any more, he'd replace his tongue with his cock, plunging inside in one long, never-ending stroke, feeling that beautiful ass tighten around him.

Then he'd hold still. He'd make Methos do the work, and he'd watch as Methos rocked back and forth, fucking himself on Duncan's cock.

He continued to stare at Methos' ass, entranced by the sight and caught up in the visions it created. Methos began to move faster, and Duncan barely managed to stop himself from protesting. He wasn't ready for it to end.

Methos groaned and clutched the pillow more tightly.

Duncan's arousal escalated.

Methos was pounding the pillow with short, hard thrusts. Duncan wanted to crawl beneath him and hold himself open, wanted Methos to take him hard and fast, with no thought for anything but his own pleasure.

Another groan, Duncan wasn't completely certain the sound hadn't come from him. Unable to stop himself, he rose from the chair and stood over Methos, watching.

He wondered what Methos would say if he opened his pants and let himself come all over that perfect ass.

Suddenly Methos rolled onto his back, pressing his spurting cock against his abdomen. Duncan watched it pulse, his own cock throbbing. Methos' eyes were tightly closed, and he was completely still, except for his cock. He stayed still after his orgasm subsided, his come-covered chest rising and falling rapidly, his lips parted slightly.

It took every ounce of self-control Duncan had not to kneel over him and take those lips in a harsh, bruising kiss, not to smear Methos' come all over his own cock and shove it inside. It wouldn't take much. One, maybe two thrusts, and he would come, in Methos. Methos needed--deserved-- to be filled with come.

Duncan took a step toward the bed.

Methos opened his eyes, and his gaze locked with Duncan's. "I didn't want to ruin the pillow," Methos said quietly, looking away. "I almost never jerk off like that."

Taking a step back, Duncan nodded. He was afraid to open his mouth, afraid the words "let me fuck you" would somehow come spilling out.

"Let me clean up and I'll make us some dinner."

"Sure," Duncan answered, backing out of the room and closing the door behind him.

He rested his forehead against the wall. He had no idea how he was going to make it through the next few hours.

***

"So how close am I?" Methos asked as he puttered around the small, open kitchen.

"I'll have to look," Duncan answered from the couch. He picked up the notebook in which he'd been tracking Methos' Masturbation Minutes, which is what he'd written at the top of the page. He hadn't remembered to check the stopwatch after the last time so he guessed, and then did some quick math. "Twenty-two minutes."

"That's it?" Methos crowed. "You're going to owe me ten thousand dollars, Mac."

"I thought the money was for charity."

"It is, but I'm the one who'll have gotten it from you."

Duncan didn't answer. Money was the last thing on this mind.

***

Duncan glanced at the clock. It was almost 11:30. Methos was asleep on the other end of the couch. Following dinner he'd settled on the couch with a book--not porn this time-- and he'd fallen asleep not long after, his legs resting in Duncan's lap. It was a small intimacy, but it made Duncan smile, even if it left him with nowhere to rest his hands except on Methos.

Duncan stroked the calf beneath his hands, feeling the curve of it through Methos' jeans. Methos still had 22 minutes to go. If he let Methos sleep, he'd save ten thousand dollars, and miss his last chance to watch Methos. Leaning to the side, he shook his sleeping friend. "Methos." No response. "Methos."

Methos made a small sound and tried to roll onto his side facing the back of the couch.

"Methos."

Groaning slightly in protest, Methos opened his eyes.

"It's almost midnight."

Methos sat up a bit and glanced at the clock. "Guess I better get to it, huh?"

"If you want ten thousand dollars."

Methos captured Duncan's eyes and held them for a long moment. Methos clearly knew Duncan wanted to watch him again, but there was no triumph in his gaze. Instead, Methos seemed quietly pleased.

Fingers working on the fastenings of his jeans, Methos averted his gaze slightly. With a sigh, he extracted his flaccid cock and began to tease it to fullness. "Keeping the time?" he asked softly.

"Yes." Duncan hadn't looked at the clock or started the stopwatch, and they both knew it.

Holding his cock in one hand, Methos began to move his foreskin back and forth over the head with the other. Duncan watched. He hadn't been this close before, hadn't had Methos' leg resting against the bulge in his own pants.

"Duncan."

Surprised, Duncan looked up.

"Would you get me some oil?"

"Sure." Methos pulled his legs back and Duncan stood, his mind spinning at the thought of Methos and oil.

The olive oil Methos had tossed with the pasta at dinner was still on the counter. Duncan grabbed it and returned to the couch. "Will this do?"

"Thanks." Methos accepted the bottle and moved his legs to once again make room for Duncan at the end of the couch.

Duncan sat at an angle, facing Methos, and Methos settled one leg behind Duncan and the other on his lap. It didn't even occur to Duncan to protest that he wouldn't be able to lean back.

Methos poured some oil into his palm and then stroked it over his cock, letting out a contented sigh.

Duncan watched as Methos slowly stroked. Methos was still fully clothed, except for where he'd opened his jeans to free his cock. There were no briefs or boxers in evidence, and Duncan imagined what the denim must feel like against Methos' bare ass.

Methos began to move his thumb back and forth across the head of his cock. Duncan stared at it, thinking about what it would be like to press his tongue against the slit and take Methos into his mouth. He wanted the taste and feel of Methos in his mouth; he wanted to swallow Methos down until he'd digested him, made him part of himself.

With a glance at the clock, Methos resumed his leisurely up and down movements.

Following Methos' example, Duncan looked at the clock. Ten minutes until midnight. Ten minutes until it would be time to write Methos a check, put on a coat, and go home to a place that suddenly seemed far emptier than it had twenty-four hours before.

He looked at Methos. There was such want in those eyes. He remembered how Methos had looked in the bath, the pleading look. "Methos." The word was whispered, barely audible, and it was out of his mouth so suddenly that Duncan didn't realize he'd said it until Methos answered.

"Duncan."

Somehow, with that one word, Duncan knew he wouldn't be going home tonight. "Don't come."

"No."

Duncan's mind reeled. Methos wasn't going to come. He was going to save that for Duncan. Duncan was going to be the one to make him shake and groan and cry out. It felt like every nerve in his body was on alert, waiting to touch Methos. Even his lips twitched with the need for contact.

Soon the hand touching Methos would be his. The warm hardness of Methos' cock would be pressed into his palm...

Methos slowed his stroking.

"Yes. Do it slow, Methos, nice and slow."

Methos slowed his touch still more, and Duncan watched, breathing in time with Methos' movements.

Methos stopped. Duncan's confusion must have shown on his face, because Methos explained, "It's after midnight."

Duncan looked at the clock. It was after midnight. He could touch Methos now, but he found himself daunted, unable to reach out. Then he saw Methos' face. Vulnerable, uncertain, that wasn't how Methos should look. Duncan almost threw himself on top of Methos as he lunged for his friend's mouth, determined to kiss that look away.

The kisses were hot and desperate. Methos wrapped his arms and legs around Duncan, clinging to him as Duncan murmured the same words over and over between kisses. "Methos… fuck… please."

Methos answered him with sounds Duncan vaguely recognized as his name combined with the word yes.

Duncan tore himself from Methos' mouth, wanting to get at the nipples that had been tormenting him all day. He sat back with a growl.

Methos looked up at him, wild-eyed, unhappy at Duncan's withdrawal.

"Clothes."

Methos nodded, and leaned up, unable to sit fully upright with Duncan straddling him. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. Putting a hand in the center of Duncan's chest, Methos pushed slightly. Duncan resisted until he realized what Methos wanted. He scrambled backward, giving Methos the room he needed to remove his jeans. It took only a minute or two, and then Methos was stretched out in front of him. Naked. His for the taking.

Duncan swallowed, licking absently at his upper lip. Only Methos could lay naked and exposed in front of another man and make it feel like he was issuing a challenge.

"Duncan."

But his name wasn't a challenge. Duncan looked into Methos' face. "I want you so much it hurts," he confessed.

Methos was kneeling beside him in an instant, his hands cupping Duncan's face, his lips pressed to Duncan's in a soft kiss. "Get undressed, please."

Duncan undid the top two buttons on his shirt; then gave up and pulled it over his head. Standing, he opened his pants, acutely aware of Methos watching him. He stripped them off, along with his socks and briefs, and stood, letting Methos look at him.

Holding Duncan's gaze with his own, Methos lay back on the couch and parted his legs.

Picking up the olive oil from the floor where Methos had set it, Duncan knelt on the couch. Some of the oil dripped from his hand as he poured, but he didn't think Methos would care. He wrapped his hand around two of his fingers, covering them with oil. Lowering his hand to Methos' opening, he worked his fingers inside.

Methos clutched at the couch and lifted his hips into the air.

Remembering how Methos had looked when he'd done this to himself, Duncan began to finger fuck him.

Methos' insides were soft and smooth, and Duncan moved his fingers faster and harder. He pressed against Methos' prostate, demanding a response. Methos groaned and moved against his hand, trying to get more of it inside.

It was more than Duncan could take, after everything he'd already seen. He pulled his fingers free, spilling more oil in his haste to coat his cock. Then he was leaning over Methos, holding the other man's gaze with his own as he plunged inside.

Methos cried out.

Duncan pulled back, but only for a heartbeat. His entire body was involved in the return thrust, the one that forced him fully inside.

Methos' legs were in the air, and he clutched at Duncan's back as Duncan humped him. Methos opened easily, his body giving way, letting Duncan in, letting him take and take, letting him get lost in Methos' yielding strength.

The sensations kept building, feeding the ache that had been with him all day until it was almost too much. He slid one arm under Methos' back, trying to pull him closer while still keeping his leverage. Methos wrapped his legs around Duncan's back and began to move with him. Up and down, stroking Duncan's cock with his ass.

The last was too much. Duncan wrapped both arms around Methos, moving into him with a series of short, sharp thrusts. He started to come, but he kept moving, his thrusts slowing as he emptied himself into the man beneath him.

He collapsed on top of Methos, drained but not replete. It wasn't enough. He continued to move, but just barely, and brought his mouth to Methos' for a kiss. The want should have lessened but it hadn't. It had deepened, taking root somewhere deep inside him, and all Duncan could do was press closer. They kissed for long, agonizing minutes until Methos pulled away.

Duncan pushed himself up onto his hands and studied the man under him. The pleading look was back. He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and began to move in and out with long, slow strokes.

Methos groaned.

"So fucking beautiful," Duncan murmured, unsure if he meant Methos or what was happening between them.

"Yes," Methos answered, the word almost, but not quite, a gasp.

"Can't stop."

"No."

Instead of plundering the smooth, inviting warmth that surrounded him, Duncan tried to caress it. He sat back on his knees, holding Methos' hips in his hands, and watched his cock disappear and reappear, moving in and out of Methos.

"Duncan." Methos was reaching for him, but he was too far away.

"It's so good inside you, Methos, so good. Does it feel good to you? Tell me it feels good."

"Not enough, not enough..."

Duncan leaned down and placed his hands under Methos' arms. Shifting back, he lifted Methos with him. They gasped in concert as the change in position forced Duncan deeper into Methos.

Wrapping his arms around Duncan's shoulders, Methos began to kiss and nip his neck.

Duncan turned his head and captured Methos' lips with his own. Methos was hungry and Duncan did his best to feed him, opening to the kiss, letting Methos ravish his mouth.

Methos' arousal was feeding his, and Duncan pushed his hips upward, desperate to fuck. Methos responded immediately, moving to Duncan's rhythm. Duncan dropped his head to Methos' shoulder. "I'm gonna come."

"Do it," Methos said, his tone fierce and intimate. "Come in me. I want to be so full of your come it drips out of me for days."

Duncan had no words for what that image did to him. Groaning, he took hold of Methos' hips, moving Methos in time with his own thrusts.

Methos' mouth latched onto his ear lobe, sucking with the same rhythm, making it feel like they were fully connected, in sync, together.

What little control Duncan still had failed. He was aware of nothing but Methos around him and over him, surrounding him and taking him deep. It wasn't deep enough. Moving suddenly he dropped Methos onto his back, following him down. He fucked Methos with everything he had, hard and fast and deep. He came. He kept moving, not stopping as one orgasm followed another in a blur of pleasure.

Nothing mattered, nothing was real, nothing but the blinding pleasure and its source, Methos.

Gradually, his movements slowed, becoming shallower before finally ceasing altogether. Still only somewhat aware of his actions, Duncan shifted lower, carefully withdrawing from Methos' body and resting his head in the center of Methos' chest.

Methos stroked his hair with one hand, resting the other on the back of Duncan's shoulder. Drained and finally satiated, Duncan let himself rest in Methos' warm solidity.

It was Methos who broke the silence between them. "Duncan." Methos' voice was barely audible.

"Hmm?"

"We should move to the bed."

"Mmm."

"If we sleep here, we'll regret it in the morning."

"Can I rest for a few more minutes?"

"Yes."

"You're sticky," Duncan said, in case Methos didn’t know.

"I know."

"I like you sticky."

"I like you sticky, too."

***

Waking slightly, Duncan nestled against the body next to his and let himself drift in that pleasant twilight between sleep and wakefulness. Breakfast, they'd have breakfast soon. Maybe, he could convince Methos to make omelets again. The man had a way with eggs. But first they'd have sex. Smiling to himself, he considered the possibilities. Blowjobs would be good, but he wouldn’t mind being fucked either. There was a lot to be said for a nice, lazy handjob. Of course, Methos might have had enough of jerking off for a while.

Good food, good company, extremely good sex. This was the best ten thousand dollars he'd spent in a long time.

Methos was lying on his back, and Duncan was on his side with one arm across Methos' chest, his head sharing Methos' pillow. He dropped a kiss on the top of Methos' shoulder.

Methos didn't respond.

Shifting, Duncan repeated the kiss, working his way from Methos' shoulder to his neck.

Opening his eyes, Methos smiled.

Duncan kissed him.

Definitely the best ten thousand dollars he'd spent in years, maybe ever.


End file.
